


A Night Out

by statesofuncertainty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Flirting, Bisexual John, First Time, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Unilock, Victor is Sherlock's cousin and flatmate, at a bar and John likes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8341420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statesofuncertainty/pseuds/statesofuncertainty
Summary: “So Captain is giving orders strictly a profession, or does it seep into your private life as well?”John smiled at the insinuation “I enjoy being on top  of things, yes.”





	

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Victor Trevor gestured widely to the bathroom door which he had been waiting impatiently outside of. “Feast your eyes on the one and only Sherlock Holmes!”

Sherlock who had just opened the door, felt a whoosh of air pass beside him and a sudden shove that pushed him over the bathroom threshold. The door slammed behind him-almost hitting his heels- and Sherlock was left staring at the blank hallway wall.

“Was that _really_ necessary Victor?” Sherlock asked through the closed door.

The sound of a stream of liquid hitting cool ceramic echoed loud enough to be heard through the closed door. Victor sighed audibly in relief “You were taking forever. I was seconds away from using the sink as a toilet regardless of the dishes you left in there this morning.”

Sherlock made a face. “I took less then four minutes.”

The toilet flushed and the taps began to run “Why couldn't you just change in your room?”

“I needed to fix my hair and anyways my clothes were already in there.”

“If I ever need a bladder transplant then know that it will be your fault.” Victor grumbled as he opened the door “My mother always said that if-” Victor paused and stared as the light from the bathroom illuminated the figure of his cousin.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“You did that in four minutes?”

“Did what?”

“Did that.” Victor gestured vaguely at him.

“That Eton education was wasted on you. Your parents ought to demand a refund seeing you can't even express a simple question.”

“How do you manage to look so...so put together? I would need to hire a valet and personal hairstylist to look like that.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow “You can't even dress yourself? Forget the refund, your parents should sue.”

Victor shoved him into the wall in mock annoyance “I can dress myself just fine, thank you.”

Sherlock huffed in disagreement and Victor spun around.,

“Fine then, Genius. You pick something for me, but nothing too formal, I do want to pick someone up after we are done your deducing practice.”

Sherlock gave his cousin a quick scan. Victor's height and build was very Holmesian, being as tall as Sherlock, but his blue eyes and brown hair marked him as a Trevor. Mummy's sister Aunt Clarissa had married a George Trevor, neither had shared Mummy's intelligence and Victor took after his own mother in his preference for socializing over education. This had initially been a source of annoyance for Sherlock during family gatherings, but Victor had proved himself useful in that he enjoyed introducing himself to the people who Sherlock deduced. Sherlock would deduce, Victor would easily strike up a conversation with that person, and after a few minutes of small talk Victor would return and tell his cousin which deductions were right or wrong. In exchange Sherlock would help Victor with his chemistry labs, even on occasion sneaking into Eton college to help him study for an exam. A few years later when Sherlock had graduated school two years earlier then expected, Victor -who had barely managed to survive his final year at Eton- had been looking for a flatmate for University and Mrs. Holmes agreed to let Sherlock move off of the family estate only if he would live with Victor. The following day Sherlock had showed up on Victor's doorstep and had claimed the second bedroom as his own. It was much smaller then his rooms at the Holmes estate, but here there was no unsettling silence and most importantly, no Mycroft.

Victor had spent his gap year testing his alcohol tolerance in the Mediterranean, and had decided social drinking was the only worthwhile thing to do while not studying and was unable to wait until Sherlock turned 18 to go out drinking together, so he called in a favour and got the 17 year old a fake ID. Sherlock had turned 20 since then, but to Victor's disappointment Sherlock had preferred to use the ID to get into laboratories rather then to enter a bar. That was until the incident with Stephen Carling the forger, where Sherlock's inability to deduce while in a crowded place became evident, and Victor suggested practising deduction while at a crowded night club would help train his mind to focus. It became a monthly occurrence, Victor would choose a club, they would spend the first two hours working on fine tuning Sherlock's concentration, and then Sherlock would point out a girl who would be interested in a one night stand, and Victor would disappear into the crowd while Sherlock headed back to their apartment. It was a very good system, and tonight Victor had chosen a comparably respectable night club that would not have Sherlock washing his hands every time he touched anything. Sherlock had chosen his usual tight black jeans, a tight white button up shirt (with very few buttons done up) and a very fitted grey waist coat. Victor tended to wear frayed jeans with a t shirt.

“You should wear those jeans,” Sherlock pointed at the pants that lay in a heap under Victor's bed “with a dark grey button up shirt over it.”  
Victor cast a glance at his messy wardrobe. “I don't have a dark grey button up shirt.”

“I have one that you may borrow.”

“There is no way I will fit into one of your tiny shirts!” Victor exclaimed.

“Wear a black T-shirt under it so you won't have to button it up. Go get it, it's the one that is hung up between the black and light grey shirts.”

Victor turned out of the room saying “I know how you organize your closet by colour, its almost as annoying as your sock index.”

Sherlock ignored him.

“How is this?” Victor asked a minute later.

Sherlock glanced at his cousin. “Roll the sleeves up.”

Victor fiddled with the sleeves “I hate clothes, we should all just go around naked. Fuck, this shirt has way too many buttons and if I spill something on it I'll owe you a small country since that's what this shirt is worth.”

Sherlock grinned and turned to leave. “Hurry, you have already taken three times longer then necessary.”

Victor threw him a scowl and grabbed his wallet.

...

The club was reasonably busy for a week day evening, there were enough people for Sherlock to struggle to focus, but not enough to be overwhelming. The music was as loud as it would be on a weekend, and the flashing lights just as annoying as ever. Sherlock grimaced, deducing in such conditions always left him confused and with a headache, but he needed to sharpen his focus, Mycroft would never become overwhelmed in this situation so neither must he. Finding a couple of empty stools at the bar, they settled down and waited for the bartender to hand them their drinks.

The dance floor was crammed with students enjoying their night out, /victor scanned the crowd looking for someone for his cousin to deduce.

“How about the girl with the bow.” Victor suggested before noticing a bald man eyeing up his cousin.

Sherlock narrowed his gaze and forced his mind to ignore all of the excess data. “College drop out, minor caffeine addiction, heavily in debt, three cats, one flatmate, no parents just one male sibling, in a polyamourous relationship with 3 different people, and she loves country music.”

“That is 8 deductions, in under thirty seconds.”

Sherlock smiled “I might beat Mycroft yet.”

Victor shook his head “I don't think so. Mycroft would have noticed that I had slipped a tic tac into his drink.”

Sherlock looked in surprise at his glass, lifting it to the light he could see the pill shaped candy lying at the bottom of his drink. “That is not fair.”

Victor did not look impressed. “I told you that you need to pay attention to your peripheral vision. If anyone else slips something into your drink you know it won't be a tic tac.”

“That happened over a year ago, I pay more attention now.” Sherlock grumbled as he fished out the small candy.

Victor sighed “Yes but what would have happened last time if Mycroft had not been stalking you?”

“I would have noticed a slight salty flavour in my drink.”

“No you wouldn't. All your attention was on the DJ, your drink could have been on fire and you wouldn't have noticed.”

Sherlock didn't reply and Victor thumped his shoulder “Relax, most of the people who pull that sort of crap are terrible at the slight of hand. You would notice now that you are aware of the possibility.”

“It is pathetic how they have to drug people in order to get off.”

“Yea,” Victor agreed. “At least that is not a problem you would have, you could pull anyone.”

“I suppose if I was interested there is a chance I could convince them.” Sherlock said.

“Pssh, as if anyone would turn you down when you are dressed like that.” Victor gestured at the absurdly tight jeans and waistcoat that somehow looked less formal then it should.

“I didn't even know you owned a waistcoat, I figured Mycroft had monopolized them.”

Sherlock smirked “He only monopolized the XXL waistcoats, I bought this one for Easter dinner, so I can remind brother dearest how a waistcoat ought to look, flat, not extending outwards as if on a pregnant woman’s stomach.”

“I would agree but I don't want to be found assassinated in my bed when Mycroft inevitably takes over the government.” Victor grinned “I bet you could pick that guy up, the one by the window.”

Sherlock looked over “He has a pregnant fiancee.”

“Oh. Howabout the blond girl in the purple shirt?”

“Haha no. I once held hands with a girl and THAT was unbearable. Anyways women's moods are unreliable and something as simple as a hair being out of place can cause a mood swing. I can't build on that quicksand.”

Victor smiled at remembering that fiasco. “Women are not that bad, stop exaggerating. What about the green haired bloke?”

“He has herpes.”

“Oh. Maybe that blond one with the braid. I know how you like blonds.”

“Drug habit, Heroine I believe.”

Victor twisted around “That bloke behind us, by the doors.”

Sherlock smiled “No, he is an undercover officer. Boring”

“That guy doing the Elvis hip thrust by the speakers.”

Sherlock looked scandalized. “He works as an accountant, and watches cricket for fun ”

“Okay fine you pick one.” Victor sighed “And not just one you know will be the easiest.”  
Sherlock slowly scanned the crowd as the flashing lights illuminated the sea of faces. Ah there, right at the back, the one chatting to the uninterested blonde.

“Him.”

“Which one? Not the Bald one I hope, he's been making eyes at you since we got here, that would be too easy.”

Sherlock scoffed “No. Do you see the man in the dark blue button up shirt talking to the blonde in the neon pink dress?”

“The shirt looks black.”

“It's not black, the lights make it look like it is.”

“Okay so why him?” Victor asked

“He looks interesting.” Sherlock replied then turned to his cousin, “Go away.”

“Go away? Really? Very polite.” Victor said “What makes you think he will be interested in a man? He seems very interested on that girl.”

“She is not interested. 20 quid says he will be interested”

“Alright then 20 quid.” Victor smiled, (if it took a bet to get his cousin interested in someone he would gladly pay up, because if he had to put up with one more day of sexually frustrated Sherlock, he would kill him) leaving his bar stool he moved to a near by table to watch.

The moment Victor stood up Sherlock adjusted his collar, letting it fall as open as the material would allow, and he changed his posture from one of a reserved observer, to open, and inviting. He spun his stool around and leaned back against the bar on his elbows, spreading his legs as far as the skin tight jeans would allow, and pushed his hips forward allowing the jeans-which hid nothing-to speak for themselves. This being accomplished he closed his eyes and when they reopened the intense focus and suggestibility they projected had Victor in silent awe. The laser focus of his gaze shot across the room and the man in the blue looked up and straight into it. Sherlock slowly raised a brow and gave a glance towards the empty stool beside him. After a series of blinks, the man excused himself from the blonde in the neon dress and slowly strolled towards the source of the gaze, only straying from the most direct path to avoid the drunk couples grinding to the rhythm of the music. The way the man carried himself screamed military.

“Is this taken?” The man asked indicating the empty stool.

“It's reserved for attractive blond men with military experience.”

“That obvious is it?” The man asked as he sat down.

“Yes.” Sherlock smirked as he slowly and precisely rotated his stool to the left to face the blond and he sat up straight cocking his head to the side. “You don't get a build like that for lifting textbooks.”

The army man laughed.

“Why are you here, and not getting shot at?”

“Got bored, decided to go back to school.” The man replied

“Ah, so you were a terrible lieutenant and decided it would be better to die of alcohol poisoning then a bullet wound?”

“Oi! Captain not Lieutenant. I think I was rather good considering it usually takes 48 months to get a captaincy and I was only deployed for half that time.”

Sherlock grinned “Well then Captain do military men have names or do get your kicks by calling each other by your rank?”

The man extended his hand “Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fussiliers.”

Sherlock met his hand with a firm shake “Sherlock Holmes of London England.” Looking over his shoulder he got the bartender's attention “A drink for Captain Watson.” he said and waited for John to order, his beverage was promptly pushed in his direction.

“So Captain is giving orders strictly a profession, or does it seep into your private life as well?”

John smiled at the insinuation “I enjoy being on _top_ of things, yes.”

“And as a military man you must like efficiency and practicality.”

“Generally, however I can sacrifice a bit of efficiency in favour of a more personal touch.”

Sherlock gave a smirk “You would rather have me on my back?”

“It's less efficient, but I'd like to see your face.”

“Likewise. Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I know a good restaurant.” Sherlock said

“Where is it?”

“In my trousers.”

John burst into laughter, he laughed so hard that he soon had to prop himself up with his arm.

“That is the worst line I have ever heard!” He finally gasped out between giggles. “And trousers? Not your pants?”

“Does it look like there is enough space in these jeans for pants?” Sherlock replied with a grin.

John laughed even harder.

“So Sherlock, what do you do?” John finally managed to ask.

Sherlock leaned onto the bar allowing his elbow to hold his position “Other then go to clubs on week nights and use terrible lines?”

John nodded, the white lights on the dance floor flashed and the bright blue of his eyes made Sherlock pause for a second in admiration.

“Well” he forced his thoughts back to the conversation. “I study chemistry and forensics.”

“How long have you been studying?”

“I am a third year student. The course work is unbelievably dull but the laboratories are magnificent.” John nodded his head once in agreement. Sherlock continued “What do medical students do other then drink when they should be studying?”

John looked confused.

Fuck.

“How....how did you know I am a medical student.”

Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.

“I-” Sherlock began, his previously relaxed pose became fraught with strain and his brain refused to kick into gear and the truth slipped out before he had an excuse.

“It's what I do at clubs.”

John looked even more confused and wariness showed itself clearly in the way he closed himself off.  
Sherlock bit his lip. He dug this hole so he might as well lay in it. Pity it had been going so well.

“It's a thing I do. My cousin and I come to clubs to observe people and to deduce their lives....I find it difficult to focus in loud environments so practice is crucial.” Sherlock managed and he closed his eyes.

“So how did you know I am a medical student?”

Sherlock opened his eyes. “What?”

John raised an eyebrow “How did you know?”

Sherlock cleared his throat almost nervously “Well even though you carry yourself as a military man, you have no tan or the regulation hair cut; you are fit but it's from working out at a gym because you have been out of active service for several years, and your interest in maintaining your fitness level indicates you still intend to return to the army in some capacity. You said you were a student, and most students would have finished their first degree by now but since you haven't then that means you are taking either a masters or a doctorate, you were an excellent soldier with good connections if your promotion to Captain took place ahead of time and yet you chose to leave a promising career, why? Because your studies will translate into the army. There an ID card on your key chain that says St Bart's and I saw it when you were fiddling with it while talking to the girl in the pink dress earlier. It is therefore likely that you would be a medical student.”

John stayed quiet and Sherlock looked anywhere but at him. “Sorry, I came to that conclusion without even realizing it, I didn't mean to say it out loud.”

Sherlock prepared for the blow, hopefully John would be content with a punch and not strike him more then a couple of times, unlike some of his less disciplined acquaintances. Unfortunately with army training one punch could be the equivalent of a beating if aimed properly, and John definitively would know how to throw a punch. Suddenly there was a warm hand on his face, and John came into his direct line of sight.

“That was brilliant.” John said almost reverently, while cupping Sherlock's face with one hand. “Can you do that with anyone?”

Colour returned to his face and Sherlock was almost speechless for a few second before he managed a stammering lisp “P-p-p-people don't usually thay-s-say that.”

John moved his hand down from Sherlock's face to his thigh, allowing his finger tips to run down Sherlock's torso. “What do they usually say?”

“Pith” Sherlock cleared his throat to cover his lisp “Piss off.” Sherlock managed weakly. John laughed, and slowly the panic receded.

“So you're a genius, what can you tell me about the bartender with the moustache?” John asked grinning.

Sherlock turned his flushed face to observe the man. “He is a Thingle-single father of a young girl, he has a degree in biology, 2 large dogs and a smoking habit he struggles to repress, probably to set his daughter a good example.”

John stared in surprise “How can you tell?”

Sherlock swallowed and managed to get through his list of deductions without stuttering, and to his amazement John called him 'Brilliant' again.

Across the bar Victor waved a 20 pound note in the air as he left with a woman wearing a strapless black dress.  
...

John's flat was a tiny one bedroom apartment with a kitchen that had not been renovated since the 70's and so it had maintained the hideously bright colours and patterns that had once been fashionable. John was just about fill the kettle when Sherlock's voice murmured into his ear.

“On second thoughts, perhaps tea can wait until the morning.”

John shivered as long fingers stroked up from his hips to his shoulders and as a mess of dark curls tickled his face while a warm, wet mouth nuzzled his neck.

“Oh, Captain. My Captain.” Sherlock murmured in his deepest and most seductive voice, and John dropped the kettle into the sink and spun them around so Sherlock was being pressed into the hard edge of the counter while John ravaged his mouth. Slowly Sherlock's tapestry of carefully made plans and deductions unraveled and loose strands floated away in the wind as Sherlock lost himself in the pleasure of having a firm body growing firmer against him.

John pulled away rather abruptly and was given the pleasure of watching Sherlock trying to quickly reinstate his previous coolness, but the flush that stained his cheeks shattered the illusion.

“Bedroom?”

Sherlock nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically at the suggestion and John smirked. His mind had finally come back online and as he followed John's steady and confidant steps, he began to register the dull ache that leaning against the counter had caused; he quickly filed it in the 'to be ignored' wing of his mind palace.

John's room was very organized with the sheets tucked in hospital corners. Even the personal effects were kept in proper order. Sherlock smiled, military to the core.

“On your knees.” John ordered.

Sherlock's irises were eclipsed and he obediently sunk to his knees. John almost let himself smile at the effect orders had on Sherlock as he took his time removing his belt. Sherlock's eyes locked on his as John slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. Contact broke as he pulled the elastic of grey cotton pants down to expose a thick and hardening cock.

“Suck me.” John said with a quiet authority

Sherlock immediately wrapped his lips around the tip and sucked. John groaned and Sherlock opened his mouth wider slowly allowing John's cock to hit the back of his throat. He had done this a few times, his last 'dirty weekend' had involved another man who had decided to teach him how to suppress his gag reflex, a skill that was clearly going to be useful tonight.

Sherlock pulled off but tightened his hold on John's hips “Would you like me to swallow you sir?”

John's eyes widened “Is there anything you can't do?”

Sherlock smiled “I don't know, lets find out.” With that Sherlock took a controlled breath and let his throat adjust to the intrusion before letting John thrust into his mouth.

John rhythmically pulled out long enough for Sherlock to breathe before thrusting back into the wet depths of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock moaned as John ran his fingers through his carefully combed curls, and John gasped and came, buried deep in the detective's throat.

Sherlock watched John tuck himself back into his pants before kicking off his trousers.

“What would you like?” John asked as he helped Sherlock up off his knees.

“I'd like for you to take your shirt off.”

John smiled and began to unbutton his shirt, Sherlock watched him with an intense focus as the last button was undone and the dark blue shirt hung open to reveal a toned body, a few faded scars marred the surface of John's skin, but only one looked as if it had required medical attention.

“Accident?” Sherlock asked looking at the scar that lay on John's ribcage.

“Small glass shard from an exploding delivery truck. I was getting dressed in the morning when a mislabeled delivery was jostled as it was being loaded into a truck. No one was killed but a mate of mine almost bled out as a piece of metal cut an artery.”

“May I?”

John nodded and Sherlock ran his hands up and down Johns ribs as John began to remove Sherlock's waistcoat that had been unbuttoned in the snog they had shared in the taxi. Sherlock shrugged it off and allowed John to finish unbuttoning his shirt.

“Lay on the bed.” John said looking with anticipation at the large bulge in Sherlock's jeans.

Sherlock unbuttoned the black jeans that hung off his hip bones and quickly removed them before settling down propping his head up on a pillow. John noted that Sherlock had indeed not been lying about there not being enough space in the jeans for pants and positioned himself over Sherlock to kiss him. John cupped Sherlock's face and explored his mouth until Sherlock broke away to catch his breath exposing the fine tendons of his neck, John took this opportunity to gently bit the curve of his neck. The reaction was electric Sherlock's hand flew up and settled on John's head as his hips rose seeking friction and John ground down on the younger man mercilessly pining Sherlock's hips

“Please.” Sherlock moaned as he gasped for air

“Please what?” John asked smiling into Sherlock's neck

“Touch me.”

John kissed him as his left hand slipped down to firmly pump Sherlock's cock.

“John-” Sherlock broke off with a gasp before climaxing with a muffled sob.

Sherlock lay dazed as John grabbed a wet cloth to clean up “You can stay if you like.” John said to the limp form that was currently taking up most of the space on his bed.

“Hnnng? Ohthanksss.” Sherlock replied, his words slurred with sleep.

“Yeah but I'll need you to shove over a bit.” John said as he sat down and prodded Sherlock towards the opposite side of the bed.

“Later.” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes closed and his mind ready to sleep.

“Oh no, at least get under the covers so you don't freeze to death.” John retorted as he physically shoved the tall lanky man far over enough so he could pull the covers from underneath him. Sherlock let John manhandle him until he was fully covered by the cheap duvet.

“Prostate.” Sherlock said as he buried his head into the pillow.

“What?” John asked turning his head.

“You're a medical student, I assume you know how to find the prostate?”

“Uh yeah.” John replied slightly confused.

“Ah. Good. Tomorrow morning then, afterwards I'll make pancakes. If you're amendable of course.” The words were slightly muffled by the pillow.

John smiled “I am definitively amendable.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm I guess I could have written a longer sex scene, but oh well. I imagine things get really kinky a few dates later ;) Also I don't know nor particularity care how the British military works, so if there are any impossibilities then pretend this is set in an au where its not impossible :) Basically I just wanted to write Sherlock using a terrible line, and I think that was the worst line ever.


End file.
